


Cutting the Ties

by little_abyss



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Apostates (Dragon Age), Arranged Marriage, Circle Mages, Developing Relationship, F/M, Flirting, Marriage Proposal, Sexual Content, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-11
Updated: 2017-11-11
Packaged: 2019-01-31 20:23:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12689601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/little_abyss/pseuds/little_abyss
Summary: The beginnings of Malcolm Hawke and Leandra Amell's life together.





	Cutting the Ties

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GuileandGall](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GuileandGall/gifts).



Leandra looks away, out over Kirkwall from Hightown, toward the sparkling sea.  “I don’t know,” she tells him archly, flicking her fan open to conceal her smile, “What would you have me do?”

“Marry me, Leandra Amell,” he says softly.  It’s only four words; but it seems like every single muscle in her body is suddenly tense, and her gaze is almost unwillingly dragged back to those beautiful dark eyes.  Malcolm Hawke _is_ beautiful, all her friends think so.  All that lovely hair, those intense eyes, the sardonic twist of his smile.  She knows what he _is_ \-- she’s not _stupid_ \-- he’s a mage.  And she knows exactly what her father would think of Malcolm, too.  

 

For a brief moment, she imagines what being his wife might be like.  To touch him, to bear his children, perhaps.   But surely Mother would bring Father around... and surely, Malcolm could change.  They could live here, in Kirkwall.  Leandra’s imagination shows her a shining image of herself on Malcolm’s arm, arriving at a soiree, resplendent in jewels and fine clothing.  They’d be so _charming_ together.  She sighs happily, then shakes her head.  It’s a fantasy, nothing more.  “You know we can’t do that.”

Malcolm’s eyes widen slightly, then he laughs.  “Leelee,” he says quietly, and she shifts from foot to foot, pleased at the intensity with which he is regarding her, “I’d be mad not to ask.  I love you.”

“You can't know that.  You don't know me at all,” she tells him, staring for a moment into his eyes over the top of her fan before flipping it closed again.  Leandra lifts her chin and smirks slightly, then says, “Take me to the Hanged Man again?”

He snorts and grins.  “You hated it there.”

“I might not hate it this time,” she tells him, and he laughs and offers her his arm.

 

-|||-

 

“We don’t… we don’t have much time,” Leandra whispers, then moans softly as Malcolm drags his teeth over the skin of her throat.  It’s so quiet here in the Chantry, it feels as if every noise is huge.  But the smell of wax and incense is in her nose and oh, his hands on her skin, and they don’t have much time but Maker, she wishes they did.  His hands, they feel so hot, underneath her skirts, skirts which she’s hiked up over her hips, his robes are up too and _oh_ , the feel of his fingers in her, it hurts a little but not… not in a bad way, they’d better be quick and she wishes, oh how she wishes that this were a bed, that maybe, one day, they can go slowly but for now… for now this is what they have, and _Maker_ , he’s so beautiful, he’s hushing her gently, the _shush_ of his breath against her neck as he guides himself into her.  The wall of the confessional squeaks faintly as he rocks their bodies together, this is Malcolm, Malcolm Hawke, her love.  “Leandra,” he whispers, so quiet in all the hush, “Leandra, I love you.”

But all she can manage is a moan; it might be his name, it might be how she feels… she doesn’t know.

 

-|||-

 

“What are you going to do?” Gamlen asks, his voice low.  Leandra shakes her head.  

“I have to tell him,” she says quietly.  “It’s his.  Ours.  The baby.  It’s ours.”

She looks up in time to see Gamlen’s throat work.  There’s a moment of hush, then he mutters, “I meant about Father.”

Grimly, Leandra looks at her stomach.  “It throws everything back at him, I suppose.  He’ll take it badly… but I didn’t want to marry de Launcet anyway.  He’s so…”

“I know,” Gamlen smiles, small and tight, but he makes a face and uses his fingers to pull out his ears before making a stuck-up impression.  Leandra knows what he’s trying to do; he’s trying to cheer her up.  So she smiles for his sake, then sighs.

“I don’t.  Don’t know, I mean,” she tells him, then rises, folding her hands in front of herself.  “Father will get over it.  So will Mother.  I love you, Gamlen.  Whatever happens, don’t forget it.”

“I won’t,” he tells her shyly, and she smiles, raises her chin and sweeps from the room.

 

-|||-

 

“Leelee,” Malcolm mutters, and throws a glance over his shoulder.  “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” she tells him, “I’m sure.”

He nods, looking sad.  “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, then runs the backs of his fingers over her hands.  It’s all they dare to do, standing here in the courtyard of the Gallows, Templars everywhere.  “I’m sorry,” he repeats, but this time, his voice is firmer, “But I have to ask again.  Leelee, marry me?  Please.  There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you.  Or…” She watches his throat work as he swallows, then a small smile, a hint of that handsome demon-may-care grin, “Or for them.  Our child.  Please.”

Wordless, she nods.  Malcolm takes a shuddering breath, his eyes widening for a moment.  Then he nods as well.  “Give me three days,” he says to her, “Can you get passage for us both?”

“Yes,” she breathes, “But where?”

“Fereldan,” he mutters, looking away.  “It’s not too far… but far enough.”

“Fereldan,” she agrees, half-appalled at herself.  It’s so far; it feels like half a world away.  Instinctively, she puts one hand on her belly, and feels her gaze being drawn, once more, to the sea.  It sparkles, there beyond the harbour, shining in the sun like so many jewels.  “Fereldan,” Leandra whispers, and sighs as Malcolm once more brushes her fingers with his own.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for the prompt, GuileandGall! I hope you enjoyed the treat.


End file.
